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Sunday, 5. April 2015
Happy Easter
ell, 14:06h
Most people my age would call me crazy, for standing up at five to go to church at half past on sunday morning, voluntarily that is. Most people my age wouldn't be thrilled at sitting in a church for nearly two hours while it's not even light outside, and their parents were still sleeping comfortably in their warm beds. And even I had my doubts if that was such a good idea, when I finally swung my legs out of my bed after the alarm had rung for the third time this morning, mostly because my muscles were still stiff and sore from my near-fall from a horse yesterday (I have then found that ones will, or at least my will, to cling onto a horse, while you're practically falling already, is directly, or maybe even exponentially proportional to the size of the horse, and this one was even higher than the 1,70 meter Safir).
But then again since when I am most people my age?
I am a catholic christian. And while I might not exactly be proud of the catholic part, I believe that there is some kind of god, and I find the idea that this entity has somehow suffered all of those large and little problems of human life somewhat comforting.
I'm not someone who needs to go to church every sunday, but every now and then and on high hollidays. And when I go to church, then I like to go to the church in my village, a) because I usually spend the weekends at home, b) because you know everyone and everyone knows you and c) because there's some sense of home connected to it. Appart from the most important reason, off course: because it's there.
So as easter is just about as high a holliday as it can get, I went to church today, at half past five in the morning. I stopped by my grandma ten minutes earlier, because I had promised to take her, otherwise she wouldn't dare go outside in the darkness, and then we spend the next two hours in church. I know most people are dreaded at the thought of standing up earlier than they have to on a normal day, when you have vacation and then spending two hours in church, but I can tell you, it's worth it, it totally is.
At first all is dark the church is only lit by the flickering shine of the easter-fire outside, and although all the rows are filled, there is complete expectant silence (appart from the occasional clatter of an accidentally falling candle). Then the priest starts by sanctifying the fire and the easter candle outside at the fire, which thanks to modern devices can also be heard in the church, which still is completely dark.
Then the priest, the deacon who is carrying the easter candle, and the altar servers enter the church in silence, stopping three times, with the deacon (who, by now, can sing) chanting "Lumen Christi!" (The light of christ) and the people answer "Deo Gracias!" (Thanks to God). During those stops the two altar servers who also bear candles go into the rows, lighting the candles people brought, who then give the light on to the others in the row, so that by the time the priest has reached the altar the whole churh is dimly lit in gloomy candle light.
The next part consists of a singer than reciting the gregorian chants that are usually sung in the easter night, and just let me tell you, we have a good singer. Through these recitals, in the flickering shine of god knows how many candles, you can almost believe you are in the church of a medival monastary, although the church around you is definitely barock style.
After the end of that chant, the night part goes on some more, with lections, for example of the exit from Egypt, and songs, without the organ, mind you. Here it needs to be said, that although my village has a rather musical and well versed congregation, in this night I've never heard them sing without a singer starting off every single verse, and even then rather shyly.
And then, after a short lecture from the priest, it get's day.
With the priest chanting "Gloria in Excelsis Deo!" ( Glory to the Lord) the whole church is led up, suddenly sparkling in all it's magnificence (for our church has only been completely renovated a few years ago). The organ starts to play the prelude to the Prais the Conquerer of Death (a song only known in Germany I fear) in a majestetic way, all the bells are rung and when the congregation starts to sing, there is no sign of their former shyness. This is a moment you simply get washed up in, and I have to admit that I really strained my voice, still stiff in this early hours, but I didn't care.
The mess then ended with a normal service, just that it involed a little more singing and organ and ceremony than usual. And when it was over and we went outside, a beautiful sun was just rising over the houses behind the church.
There is something to that night that is special, something about the athmosphere in the church. Something that makes you not care that it is still in the middle of the night, that you are sitting around for two hours or that it is freezingly cold. When I went out, I noticed that quite a lot of kids had been in church, too, and not one had cried during the whole service, someting you don't have on normal sundays.
And it is a feeling that stays, when you go home with the rising sun, looking at the flowers that are slowly coming out of their nights sleep and listening to the song of the morning birds. A feeling of youth, of new begining and of hope, that what ever is going on, there is always a future.
But then again since when I am most people my age?
I am a catholic christian. And while I might not exactly be proud of the catholic part, I believe that there is some kind of god, and I find the idea that this entity has somehow suffered all of those large and little problems of human life somewhat comforting.
I'm not someone who needs to go to church every sunday, but every now and then and on high hollidays. And when I go to church, then I like to go to the church in my village, a) because I usually spend the weekends at home, b) because you know everyone and everyone knows you and c) because there's some sense of home connected to it. Appart from the most important reason, off course: because it's there.
So as easter is just about as high a holliday as it can get, I went to church today, at half past five in the morning. I stopped by my grandma ten minutes earlier, because I had promised to take her, otherwise she wouldn't dare go outside in the darkness, and then we spend the next two hours in church. I know most people are dreaded at the thought of standing up earlier than they have to on a normal day, when you have vacation and then spending two hours in church, but I can tell you, it's worth it, it totally is.
At first all is dark the church is only lit by the flickering shine of the easter-fire outside, and although all the rows are filled, there is complete expectant silence (appart from the occasional clatter of an accidentally falling candle). Then the priest starts by sanctifying the fire and the easter candle outside at the fire, which thanks to modern devices can also be heard in the church, which still is completely dark.
Then the priest, the deacon who is carrying the easter candle, and the altar servers enter the church in silence, stopping three times, with the deacon (who, by now, can sing) chanting "Lumen Christi!" (The light of christ) and the people answer "Deo Gracias!" (Thanks to God). During those stops the two altar servers who also bear candles go into the rows, lighting the candles people brought, who then give the light on to the others in the row, so that by the time the priest has reached the altar the whole churh is dimly lit in gloomy candle light.
The next part consists of a singer than reciting the gregorian chants that are usually sung in the easter night, and just let me tell you, we have a good singer. Through these recitals, in the flickering shine of god knows how many candles, you can almost believe you are in the church of a medival monastary, although the church around you is definitely barock style.
After the end of that chant, the night part goes on some more, with lections, for example of the exit from Egypt, and songs, without the organ, mind you. Here it needs to be said, that although my village has a rather musical and well versed congregation, in this night I've never heard them sing without a singer starting off every single verse, and even then rather shyly.
And then, after a short lecture from the priest, it get's day.
With the priest chanting "Gloria in Excelsis Deo!" ( Glory to the Lord) the whole church is led up, suddenly sparkling in all it's magnificence (for our church has only been completely renovated a few years ago). The organ starts to play the prelude to the Prais the Conquerer of Death (a song only known in Germany I fear) in a majestetic way, all the bells are rung and when the congregation starts to sing, there is no sign of their former shyness. This is a moment you simply get washed up in, and I have to admit that I really strained my voice, still stiff in this early hours, but I didn't care.
The mess then ended with a normal service, just that it involed a little more singing and organ and ceremony than usual. And when it was over and we went outside, a beautiful sun was just rising over the houses behind the church.
There is something to that night that is special, something about the athmosphere in the church. Something that makes you not care that it is still in the middle of the night, that you are sitting around for two hours or that it is freezingly cold. When I went out, I noticed that quite a lot of kids had been in church, too, and not one had cried during the whole service, someting you don't have on normal sundays.
And it is a feeling that stays, when you go home with the rising sun, looking at the flowers that are slowly coming out of their nights sleep and listening to the song of the morning birds. A feeling of youth, of new begining and of hope, that what ever is going on, there is always a future.
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